


Welcome to the Show

by silentdescant



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, Jealousy, M/M, Manhandling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Name-Calling, Possessive Behavior, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one’s paying much attention to them yet but they will when Mitch starts yelling. Scott’s never fucked anyone more vocal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Show

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for Miranda just because

Slaps and cries ring in Scott’s ear. It’s easy to fall into the right headspace when sex surrounds him, and easier still when he looks down beside him. Mitch is on his knees already, drinking in the stares from other patrons as they hurry by. His hair is falling across half of his face and he looks drugged, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he leans his head back against Scott’s leather-clad thigh.

Scott pushes his hand roughly through Mitch’s hair and yanks Mitch’s head to the side, exposing his throat. He follows Mitch’s gaze to a girl on her knees at the other end of the room, her hands bound behind her back. Her Dom is face-fucking her pretty hard, and sure, it’s hot, but Scott’s more interested in how much Mitch is clearly into watching it.

“You like that, kitty?” he asks, keeping his voice low. “Want me to fuck your face like that? Right here where everyone can see how good you take it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Mitch replies. The words are slurred together, _yessir_.

“What was that?”

Mitch doesn’t even answer this time, just hums, his lips quirking up at the corner as he stares. Scott knows what he’s thinking. He knows Mitch is picturing himself in her place.

Scott steps around Mitch’s legs, putting himself directly between Mitch and the girl. “Don’t look at her, look at me,” he snaps. “Say it again.”

“Yes, yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir, what?”

“Yes, Sir, I want you to fuck my face,” Mitch says. He swallows. His gaze drops. Scott tugs his hair. “Show everyone how good I am.”

“Not being good right now, are you?” Scott mutters. He’s skating a dangerous line with Mitch, who will balk if Scott pushes the punishment angle too hard. He takes his cock out, strokes himself to full hardness. Better to just occupy Mitch’s mouth, keep him from talking back that way.

He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond. He cups Mitch’s chin and digs his fingers and thumb hard into the soft parts of Mitch’s cheeks, forcing his jaw open so he can shove his cock inside. Mitch takes it like a pro, because he is fucking good at this, doesn’t even gag when Scott’s cock hits the back of his throat.

Spit drips out the side of Mitch’s lips. This is a messy blowjob; there’s no room for real technique. This is just about using Mitch’s mouth, demonstrating how pliant he is, how obedient. Scott won’t say so, but Mitch is far outperforming that girl across the room in that respect.

Scott curls his hand into a fist, holding Mitch’s hair tight, and grinds deep into his throat, holding Mitch there for as long as he dares. Mitch can take it. He has excellent breath control.

“Fucking cockwhore,” Scott mutters. “Love it, don’t you?”

Mitch can’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

Scott lets him up, hauling him back by his hair, and he heaves in deep breath. Strings of saliva and precome stretch from his lips to Scott’s cock.

Someone to Scott’s left gets hit with a flogger and the rapid patter-slap of leather against skin echoes in Scott’s mind even before the sub shouts out the pain. Mitch is dazed in front of him, panting hard. Scott wants to show him off like these other Doms are doing, demonstrating what their subs can take. He wants to give people a show.

He manhandles Mitch over to a bench and pushes him face-first over it. Mitch braces himself with his hands and Scott allows it for now. He doesn’t have the gear to truss Mitch up and he doesn’t have enough hands to hold Mitch’s wrists himself, not while he’s positioning himself at Mitch’s slick hole and leaning his weight down on the middle of Mitch’s back.

No one’s paying much attention to them yet but they will when Mitch starts yelling. Scott’s never fucked anyone more vocal.

It doesn’t take long. Scott’s giving it to him pretty hard, and he slaps Mitch’s ass a couple of times for good measure, mostly for the sharp sound it makes than to elicit any particular reaction from Mitch, but Mitch responds beautifully, crying out loud and high-pitched. Scott can hear the subtle roughness mangling his tone; his throat is bruised from Scott’s cock. A flush of pride sneaks through his body, settling like a coiled snake in Scott’s chest. _He_ did that to Mitch, and everyone knows it.

A muscly guy in a strappy harness wanders over with his dick out. He jacks it slowly, clearly enjoying the show. He keeps drifting closer and closer to Mitch’s face, and Scott’s not sure if Mitch even notices. Scott grabs Mitch’s hair and forces his head up, so he can see the cock right in front of him.

The guy stares hungrily down at Mitch for a moment, then looks up and meets Scott’s eyes. He waits, his eyebrows lifted. What he wants is obvious; Mitch is drooling and whining like a desperate whore with every thrust of Scott’s cock in his ass.

Scott nods at the man.

To Mitch’s credit, he barely reacts when the guy taps his cock against his cheek. All he does is moan. His right hand slips out of position and he flattens down on the bench. Scott slides his own hand down Mitch’s sweat-slick neck and squeezes his shoulder, then takes Mitch’s hand and holds it at back, in the curve of his spine. Scott laces their fingers together. Permission and instruction at once. Mitch turns his face fully toward the man and opens his mouth wide.

It’s hot, for the first few seconds. Mitch is a pro, and Scott has never been able to watch him from this angle. Mitch is moaning still, his voice muffled, and he’s pliant in the man’s grasp. His hand is lax, so he’s fine, but Scott isn’t. Scott quickly decides he doesn’t like this.

He channels his jealousy into something productive and leans down over Mitch to hiss in his ear, “You love being fuckin’ used, don’t you, slut? You’ll take any fucking cock in this place. You don’t even care who it is. You’re that fuckin’ desperate for come? Fuckin’ dirty whore. You love being fuckin’ covered in it. Dripping down your fuckin’ throat. You fucking needy whore. Are you that desperate to serve a fucking purpose?”

At first it’s Mitch’s hot-button words, a stream of filth designed to get him off, but it quickly devolves into real jealousy, and that’s dangerous. If Scott doesn’t stop now he’ll say something Mitch will hate and they’ll fight and Scott will never forgive himself. He stands up straight and shakes his head at the guy, biting out a quick, “That’s enough,” through clenched teeth.

The man backs off at once, dipping his head in a sort of cautious bow as he goes, disappearing back into the crowd—and it is a crowd now, a circle of people gathered around watching them, jacking off or just eyeing them, approval on their faces. Scott feels steadier now, back in control of himself.

He leans back down and yanks Mitch’s head to the side. Mitch’s lips are red and swollen, wet and glistening in the low light, and his eyes are closed. Scott wants them open. He needs to see Mitch, the real Mitch, the one buried somewhere under this fuck-toy persona he’s sunk into.

“Look at me, slut,” Scott growls. “Fuckin’ open your eyes and look at me. Nowhere else but me.”

Mitch’s eyes blink open immediately. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look solidly black. Scott kisses him, forcing his tongue into Mitch’s slack mouth. He’s still burning with jealousy; he has to erase the man’s taste from Mitch’s mouth, replace it with his own. He wants to come all over Mitch’s face, mark him that way, but not right now. Not when everyone’s watching him, waiting for him to claim Mitch’s ass instead.

Scott finally pulls away, bites the upper curve of Mitch’s ear. “You don’t get that anymore,” he says. “You don’t get to slut around with anyone who wants to use you. Because I fucking own you. Say it.”

“You own me,” Mitch gasps.

“They can look all they want. And they will fucking look. But they can’t ever touch you. I’m the only one who gets this. I’m the only one who can touch you. Because you’re fucking _mine_ , aren’t you, slut? I own you, and no one can ever touch you again but me, you hear me? Say it.”

“No one.”

“ _Say it_.”

“No one but you,” Mitch says. “No one but you, Scotty, fuck—Sir, I don’t want anyone but you. You’re the only one. You’re the only one who gets me this way.”

“Fuckin’ right.”

Scott stands up again and grabs Mitch’s hips with both hands, finding the leverage he needs to finish what he started. His orgasm rushes through him, not the most satisfying thing in the world, but it doesn’t need to be. He doesn’t linger, pulls out quick and tucks himself away, and leaves Mitch panting over the bench.

He smacks Mitch’s ass lightly, more for the crowd than either of them, and hoists Mitch upright by his hair. His come drips slowly out of Mitch’s ass, running down Mitch’s thighs in a thin stream. Scott swipes his fingers through it and wipes it across the lower half of Mitch’s face, smearing it across his cheeks and lips. Mitch doesn’t lick it off, instead wearing it like a badge.

“Dirty whore,” Scott murmurs affectionately.

Mitch grins lazily and sinks to his knees at Scott’s feet. Scott settles his hand in Mitch’s hair.

The audience has had their show. It’s time to go home.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
